


The Chess-taurant at the End of the Universe

by EnsignAdano



Category: Futurama
Genre: Chess, Competition, Episode: s02e16 Anthology of Interest I, Found Family, Games, Gen, Happy Ending, Humor, Vice Presidential Action Rangers, What-If Machine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:27:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23931538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnsignAdano/pseuds/EnsignAdano
Summary: After the universe is destroyed in the What-If Machine, the Vice Presidential Action Rangers and Fry are left floating in an infinite featureless void with nothing to do except play Dungeons and Dragons. But endless role-playing games soon get tiring, and the crew decides to take a break from it and instead have an intense chess tournament. The games rage on as Deep Blue watches & makes sarcastic remarks and Fry just looks on cluelessly. Who will be the best chess player of them all?
Kudos: 2





	The Chess-taurant at the End of the Universe

**Author's Note:**

> As noted in the tags, this is set after the end of the last segment in "Anthology of Interest I." I debated on whether to tag this as RPF for a while, since so many real people are in it -- but finally decided against it, because I'm basing this on their portrayals in Futurama, not the actual, real people. (Plus, I wouldn't know how to tag them!)
> 
> I started this in September of 2017 and honestly can't believe it's actually done -- I worked on it on and off for _two and a half years_ , only finishing now out of quarantine boredom. With that being said, I'd like to dedicate this work to the late Stephen Hawking, who was still alive when I started writing this. I know my portrayal of him in this fic isn't always the most complimentary, but in real life I respect him immensely as a genius, the likes of which we may not see again for a long time. His contributions to physics and cosmology were invaluable and will be remembered long after his time, and he has been and continues to be an inspiration to so many aspiring scientists around the world. May he rest in peace.

_The intrepid group of adventurers entered a dark, slightly musty dungeon, lit only by the glowing fire of their torches. The only sounds were the echoes of their footsteps in the seemingly endless corridors and the_ drip, drip, drip _of water from the ceiling. In the distance, they could hear the growling of—_

"Aw, c'mon," Fry complained. "We've been through damp, slightly musty dungeons like a hundred times already!"

"Ah, but this one is different," said Gary Gygax, looking over his D&D campaign notes, "because—"

"Let me guess, it has four orcs instead of three?" Fry said, rolling his eyes.

"Normally I'd tell you not to talk that way to the creator of Dungeons and Dragons," Nichelle Nichols said, "but we _have_ been stuck in this infinity of nothingness playing D&D for a while. It may be time to end this campaign."

"End this campaign?" Gary repeated, incredulous. "But the fun of Dungeons and Dragons is that it can keep going forever! The only limit is your imagination!"

“Haven’t we already defeated, like, six final bosses?” Fry said, and Gary’s face burned, as if he hadn’t expected anyone to notice.

"Fry may be right," former vice president Al Gore cut in. "If we are to occupy our minds for the rest of eternity, we may need to find a different source of entertainment."

“I hate this place anyway,” Fry said, crossing his arms and sulking. “It’s dumb and boring. And dumb. And boring.”

“Well, I like it,” Al proclaimed.

“I thought you were against the universe being destroyed, as an environmentalist?” asked Stephen Hawking.

“I am,” Al admitted, “but even though this place is the result of that, I’ve grown fond of it.” He spread his arms wide for emphasis. “See, nobody can destroy the environment here, because there _is_ no environment!”

“Guys,” said Gary, “our campaign?”

“Maybe it’s time to put this campaign on pause for a while,” Nichelle said as gently as she could, “and find something else to do.”

The Vice Presidential Action Rangers—Al, Nichelle, Gary, and Stephen Hawking, plus the chess-playing program Deep Blue (their summer intern) and Fry—had been trapped in an eternal nothingness ever since the year 1999, when Fry had refused to enter his cryogenic tube like he was supposed to, thereby creating a paradox that destroyed the entire universe. In the endless white void, the six of them never got hungry or thirsty or tired—all they did was _be_. And, apparently, play role-playing games. How long had they been stuck there? An hour? A year? A quadrillion years? They didn't know. All they knew was that endless Dungeons and Dragons was getting real old, real fast.

Then, a deep, sonorous voice came from Deep Blue's monitor. "Perhaps we could enjoy a nice game of chess."

"What?" Nichelle exclaimed. "When did Deep Blue get programmed with speech? And independent thought?"

"Oh, I've had a lot of time on my hands for programming since my character was BRUTALLY MURDERED," Stephen Hawking said, looking pointedly at Gary.

"Dungeons and Dragons has got elements of chance!" Gary protested. "It's not _my_ fault you rolled a 1 in that booby-trapped cave!"

"Yes, I suppose you are right," Stephen said. Then, with the volume of his computer turned to low: "Stupid chance."

“You know, you could have just created a new character and kept playing,” Nichelle pointed out, but by then Stephen had turned his computer’s volume completely off and was sulking silently.

"Chess?" Fry asked, turning to Deep Blue. "But aren't you supposed to be, like, super-good at chess? The rest of us wouldn't stand a chance against you."

"Of _course_ you wouldn't," Deep Blue said impatiently. "That's why I'm not playing. Instead, the rest of you shall have a _tournament_."

"Cool!" Fry exclaimed. "But wait, there's five of us. That's an odd number."

"Do _you_ know how to play chess?"

"No," Fry admitted.

"That's what I thought. Gary, Nichelle, Al, and Stephen will be playing."

That stung Fry a little, but he wasn't too bothered by it. He was used to being the dumbest person in a room full of geniuses. In fact, that basically described his life. Besides, even though he'd probably have no idea what was going on half the time (which, come to think of it, _also_ described his life), he figured it would be fun to watch these four insanely smart people battle it out on the chessboard.

"Where are we going to get the chessboard?" Nichelle asked.

"Ah," Stephen said, "don't you know I _always_ carry an extra chessboard in the back of my wheelchair, _everywhere_ I go? Because, you know, a chessboard is absolutely _essential_ for survival, and…"

Nichelle rolled her eyes. "All right, all right, cut the sarcasm."

"No," said Stephen, "that wasn't sarcasm. I actually _do_ carry a chessboard."

Fry reached into the back of Stephen's wheelchair, and sure enough, there was a wooden chessboard with squares in alternating shades of brown, as well as a drawstring silk pouch with thirty-two intricately carved chess pieces. The others looked at each other in disbelief. Stephen just smirked.

"Well," Nichelle said, fingering a knight piece from the drawstring pouch, "I guess this is really happening."

Deep Blue wasted no time in getting to work. "All right, Al, Nichelle, you'll be playing against each other first, then Stephen and Gary. The winners of each round will play each other last."

"And I'll just sit here, I guess," Fry added, leaning back into the eternal nothingness as Al and Nichelle set up the chessboard.

Al went first, moving his pawn forward two spaces. Nichelle furrowed her brow as she looked down at the board.

Then she made her move, and Al laughed harshly. Deep Blue also had to put in its two cents: "You call _that_ a move?"

Nichelle blushed. "Shut up. I'm used to 3D chess, anyway.”

Al didn't answer, just used his pawn to capture Nichelle's knight. Nichelle let out a frustrated huff and stared down at the board again.

The game went on, mostly silent but occasionally punctuated by Deep Blue's comments, from "there are exactly thirteen better moves you could have just played" to "dear Lord, did you seriously just move your bishop _there?_ Honestly, you'd struggle to pour water out of a boot with instructions on the heel!" (At this, Nichelle and Al both turned to Stephen, who just smiled a little and refused to say anything.) It was a close game, and Al and Nichelle had each captured four of the others' pieces when they lapsed into silence again.

Fry was beginning to get tired of it. He'd thought this would be more exciting than watching a bunch of nerds be deep in thought for a couple of hours (minutes? centuries? he still wasn't sure). Finally, he decided to take matters into his own hands. It couldn't be that hard to decide how to maneuver a couple of little wooden pieces, could it?

He made his way over to the chessboard and studied it for a bit. One of Al's castle things was right out there in the open, where Nichelle's big piece with the dot on top could easily take it if it moved diagonally about five squares.

"Hey, um, can the big dot piece move, like, five spaces that way?" he whispered to Nichelle, gesturing in the general direction of Al's castle.

"You mean the queen?" Nichelle said. "I don't think so. Actually, wait, yes it can, but what good would it do?"

"It could capture that…"

"What's going on over there?" Deep Blue interrupted.

"Ignore him, guys, he's just—" Nichelle's eyes widened as she realized the path her queen would take. "He's _right_."

She moved her piece like Fry had told her and, indeed, captured Al's rook.

Everyone gawked at Fry, who looked down uncomfortably.

"How are we sure that's not a fluke?" asked Stephen, and admittedly, Fry wasn't sure how he had done that himself.

"We should test him," Gary put in.

Al nodded resolutely. "All right, Fry, Nichelle has just taken my rook. What do you propose I do next?"

Fry looked down at the board. He hadn't realized it before, but where Nichelle's queen was, Al's horse-looking piece could easily capture it in two moves. Or one, actually—the horses could move in L shapes, couldn't they? He wasn't sure, but if he was right, then Al could easily take Nichelle's queen. But that would leave his horse in a position where Nichelle's tiny dot thing could get at it easily. All it would have to do was move forward a couple of spaces, which Fry was _pretty_ sure it could do according to the rules. Then again, maybe Al _knew_ that the tiny dot thing would take his horse. And Al's king was standing nearby. Maybe Nichelle could pretend to get to the horse, and when Al moved his horse to get away from Nichelle, she could move closer to the king, which as far as he knew meant that the boring nerd game would end soon and they could—

"Hello?" came Deep Blue's robotic voice, sounding annoyed. "Earth to Fry?"

“We’re not on Earth,” Nichelle reminded it.

“Void of universal nothingness to Fry?” Deep Blue amended.

"Oh, uh, nothing," Fry said, stumbling away from the board (as well as he could _stumble_ when he was floating in an endless void). "I was just thinking."

Deep Blue harrumphed, which was a strange sound coming out of a computer.

"So, Fry," Al said, "what would be my best move here?"

Fry thought back through his mental playthrough of the game and shrugged. "You could move your horse thing over here, I guess."

"His _knight_ ," Stephen and Deep Blue said in unison.

Al did as he was told, and Nichelle looked at Fry expectantly.

“Well,” Fry said in response to her look, “your tiny dot thing could—“

"Wait, wait, wait," said Gary, holding up his hands. "This isn’t what I meant. We can't just have Fry play the game for them! If this is going to be a _tournament_ , to see who's _really_ the best, then there should be some kind of rule that the players can't get outside help."

Fry's shoulders slumped. His fifteen minutes of fame were over.

"But how will we know if Fry is actually any good at chess?" inquired Al.

"Simple," Gary replied. "We'll have him play the winner."

"That's fair, I guess," Nichelle said, and she and Al turned back to the board in silence.

_Play the winner?_ Fry thought. He'd have to play on his own against one of these super-nerds? He decided that his fifteen minutes of fame being over would have been a better option.

But he had a little bit of time to mentally prepare himself, as the game between Al and Nichelle went on.

* * *

“Knight to E-5,” said Stephen through his synthesizer.

Al, floating perpendicular to the line formed by Stephen, the chess board, and Gary, moved Stephen’s white piece as Stephen had instructed. He waited for the slight twitch in the other’s cheek that indicated that he had moved his piece to his satisfaction, then looked at Gary questioningly.

In response, Gary smirked and moved his own black pawn to where it was diagonally across from Stephen’s knight, able to capture it easily.

“Pawn to D-4,” said Stephen.

“Dammit,” Gary muttered.

Al moved Stephen’s pawn from the square, then looked at Gary and asked him, “Do you want to remove your captured pawn from the board, or should I just do it myself?”

“Just do it yourself,” Gary muttered as Al laughed and Stephen had the hint of a smile on his face.

“You’re right to say ‘dammit,’ Gary,” said Deep Blue in an artificial monotone that somehow still managed to sound infuriatingly condescending. “You could have easily avoided that capture _and_ taken Stephen’s knight if you had just moved your queen instead of your bishop. And it would have taken fewer moves, too. But evidently you weren’t _quiiiite_ smart enough to think of that, were you?”

“All right, all right, we get it,” said Gary, his face flushing a deep crimson. “Just shut up already.”

Stephen said nothing, but his aura of triumph seemed to radiate across the entire void of nothingness.

Meanwhile, Fry watched them from afar. As Gary plotted his next move, he looked down at the piece of paper in his lap—actually the back of an intricately designed campaign map from Gary’s D&D game, but Fry was sure he wouldn’t mind—and scribbled, _Little dot pieces can move diagonally if they’re capturing._ Then he squinted down at it, crossed out _little dot pieces_ , and replaced it with _pawns_. He let out a breath as he looked back up at the match going on between Stephen and Gary. Man, this chess stuff was confusing.

“What are you writing?” came Nichelle’s voice from behind him.

Fry jumped. “Oh, uh, nothing. Just, uh…erotic fanfiction.” He mentally kicked himself. _That_ was what he chose as a cover?

Nichelle peered over his shoulder and, to Fry’s horror, began to read aloud. “The big dot thing can move anywhere but not jump over other pieces…The dot piece with the crack in it can only go diagonally…DO NOT LET YOUR KING BE CAPTURED.” She looked at him, eyebrows raised. “This doesn’t seem like erotic fanfic to me. And thanks to a couple of particularly gross fans at cons who don’t understand the concept of _boundaries_ ,” she added, shuddering, “I know it when I see it.”

“Rook to D-2,” came Stephen’s voice from an indeterminate distance away. (Distance, like time, didn’t have much of a meaning in this place.) “Check.”

Al moved Stephen’s rook to the requisite place. Gary, watching the board, cursed under his breath.

“ _Language_ ,” Deep Blue tsk-tsked, another strange sound coming out of a computer.

“Oh, don’t be so negative, Gary,” said Stephen. “After this game is over, you will get the _very_ special privilege of moving my pieces when _I_ play against Nichelle in the winners’ tournament! Just like Al is doing now. Right, Al?”

Al’s face went red. “You don’t have to rub it in my face that I lost.”

“And that I’m losing,” Gary added.

“Oh, but I do,” said Stephen at the exact same time as Deep Blue said, “Oh, but he does.”

“If you want to get technical about it,” Al said, “the next game won’t even be the winner’s tournament anyway. The real winner’s tournament will be between the ultimate winner and Fry."

“Hmmph!” said Stephen. “See if he can beat me. Rook to C-5.”

“Or Nichelle,” said Gary, moving another piece.

“Or _me_ ,” said Stephen. “Rook to D-5, and check once again.”

Gary groaned as Al moved Stephen’s piece, then began staring at the chessboard contemplatively.

Meanwhile, Nichelle watched the conversation silently, then turned back to Fry. She gestured at the three men—“So that’s why you’re nervous.”

“That’s why I’m nervous,” Fry confirmed.

“Fry, it’s not the end of the world if you lose,” Nichelle said comfortingly. “And we’ve already experienced the literal end of the world, so we should know!”

“I know,” Fry groaned, “and I shouldn’t be worried, but…” He sighed, looking down at his hands. “I feel like I _have_ to win, you know? I have to prove I’m good at _something_. Because otherwise I’ll just be the dummy in a room of super-geniuses for, like, _literally_ forever.”

“We all have impostor syndrome sometimes,” Nichelle reassured him. “It’s totally natural to feel like you don’t belong.”

Fry laughed humorlessly. “Yeah, but I bet I’m the only one whose feelings are _right_. I mean, in the reality that was supposed to happen, I was living a thousand years after my own time, surrounded by these, like, super-smart people. And in _this_ reality, I’m in total nothingness surrounded by even super- _smarter_ people. There’s no place I could belong any _less_. And this stupid chess tournament isn’t helping matters!” He abruptly let go of the sheet of paper, reared back, and kicked it with all his might. It floated aimlessly at a constant speed before slowly colliding with Nichelle’s face, which only made Fry angrier.

“But you _are_ smart, Fry,” Nichelle said, calmly removing the paper from her face, floating over to Fry, and handing it back to him. “If you weren’t, how would you know so well what chess moves to make?”

“That wasn’t smarts,” Fry grumbled. “That was luck.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” said Nichelle. “Clearly you’ve got some talent up here—“ she tapped the side of Fry’s skull, which elicited a small grin from him. “And even though that isn’t the same thing as astrophysics or environmentalism or whatever it is Gary does, it’s a _talent_ , and it’s completely yours. Accept it for what it is!”

“Yeah, I guess,” said Fry. Then his smile faded—“But what if I screw up somewhere and make a move that’s not allowed? Then everyone will see I’m a fraud.”

“We’ll help you,” Nichelle replied reassuringly. “Well, I don’t know if Stephen will,” she added, casting a dubious glance over at him, “but _I_ will.” She took the paper from him and looked over it. “Want me to quiz you on the rules of chess?”

“The word ‘quiz’ has made me break out in hives since the day I was born,” said Fry, “so no thanks.”

Nichelle smiled. “Good call. I doubt there’s hives medication anywhere to be found in this void.”

“I dunno,” said Fry, quirking an eyebrow. “You never know what Stephen’s got in the back of that wheelchair of his.”

“Even so,” Nichelle said, rolling her eyes fondly, “Al would probably veto the meds on some sort of environmental objection. Mining them is a waste of nonrenewable fossil fuels or something.”

“Yeah, he’s always uptight about that,” said Fry.

“And Gary would frame it in terms of hit points,” said Nichelle. “He’d call whoever got the medicine a cleric and make them roll to see whether you’re healed!”

Both of them were full-on laughing by this point, almost enough to drown out the sound of a “Checkmate” from an indeterminate distance away, which somehow managed to sound smug despite coming from a voice synthesizer, and the subsequent sounds of Gary’s groaning and Deep Blue’s eerily artificial “Ha. Ha. Ha.”

In fact, all that could snap Nichelle out of her peals of laughter (and Fry, too, by extension, as he watched her) was Al tapping her on the shoulder and saying, “He’s all yours.” He pointed over his shoulder to Stephen, Gary, the chessboard, and Stephen’s ego, which was practically a whole separate entity in itself. “Gary will be moving his pieces. Winner plays Fry. Deep Blue presiding.” And, with a final meaningful look, “Good luck.”

“Luck has nothing to do with it,” Nichelle said, with her own just-as-meaningful look at Fry. “All we have is the skill that comes from up here.” She tapped the side of her head, fixing Fry with a wry smile. Fry rolled his eyes good-naturedly.

“I hope you win,” he called out.

“Me too, Fry,” she said as she turned away. “Me too.”

As she left Al and Fry alone in the chess-less part of the void, the two of them settled into an awkward silence that stretched on for what was, even in a place where time technically didn’t exist, far too long. Finally, in an attempt to break the tension, Al reached over and picked up the piece of paper that floated between them.

“No, no, don’t—“ Fry cried, but it was too late. Al was already reading it.

All he said, though, was “You wrote on the back of our D&D campaign map?”

Fry’s heart soared—maybe he hadn’t noticed his furious, amateurish chess-related scribbling after all? Or maybe he had, but was tactful enough not to mention it.

“Gary will be pissed,” Al said, then tossed the paper away and left.

* * *

“This is it,” Stephen proclaimed. “The final battle.”

He and Fry were on opposite sides of the chessboard—Deep Blue behind them overseeing the process, Nichelle on their other side, her fingers poised over Stephen’s chess pieces. But this time, Gary and Al were involved, too—and not just with a passing interest, but as actual, rapt audience members. It really did feel like a final battle, and Fry could feel the pressure. And Stephen’s narration wasn’t helping matters. In fact, it sounded like he had adjusted the settings on his synthesizer to make his voice even louder, boomier, and more bass-boosted, just to intimidate Fry. Or maybe that was only Fry’s imagination.

“On one side of the board,” Stephen announced, “we have a world-famous physicist and cosmologist known for his work on singularities and the Big Bang; his groundbreaking theory of Hawking Radiation; his work to raise awareness of environmentalism, artificial intelligence development, and rights for those with disabilities; and his being, dare I say it, an all-around genius. Lady and gentlemen, please welcome…” He paused, as much for effect asto raise the volume on his synthesizer. “… _Stephen W. Hawking!”_

This was met with light, somewhat hesitant applause from Al and Nichelle, and Gary commenting, “Did you just introduce yourself?”

“And on the other side,” Stephen continued, ignoring him, “we have…” He squinted. “Uh, we have…a pizza delivery boy. Fry something-or-other.”

“Fry’s actually my last name,” Fry said, inwardly wincing at Stephen’s dismissiveness.

“All right then,” Stephen said. “Something-or-other Fry. Now,” he proclaimed without a moment’s waste, “let the match begin!“

When this failed to elicit a response from the others, Deep Blue played a recording of an airhorn and thunderous applause from an audience of thousands. This also failed to elicit any response.

Stephen shrugged it off and looked down at the board, raising his eyebrows at Fry. “White always goes first.”

Oh, right. Fry hadn’t thought to add that to his list of rules, and he certainly hadn’t thought about it when he chose what side of the board to sit on, but upon reflection, he found that Stephen was right—in all the games he’d seen the Vice Presidential Action Rangers play, the person with the white pieces _did_ go first.

He felt himself tense up at the pressure of having to make the first move, combined with the shame of not knowing such a simple fact, but forced himself to shake it off so he could get on with the game. Freaking outwasn’t going to help anyone. He picked up a little dot piece—no, a _pawn_ , one near the middle, and moved it forward two spaces. He’d seen people doing that before, though only on their opening moves, and he hoped to God he’d interpreted the rules right.

“Pawn to D-6,” said Stephen, and Nichelle obediently moved the corresponding piece.

Fry thought for a minute or two, then moved a second white pawn next to his first one.

“Knight to F-6,” Stephen said.

_Oooh, he’s moved his knight,_ Fry thought. _This just got_ _real_ _._

He hesitated over his next move. It was going to be tough—well, of _course_ it was, he thought, laughing ruefully to himself. He was playing chess against Stephen freakin’ Hawking. There was no way for that _not_ to be tough. But he looked around at Nichelle’s reassuring smile, and Stephen’s deep concentration, and Al and Gary’s rapt interest, and he thought to himself, _I can do this._

_I can do this._

And he could do it, for about six more moves. Until he moved his castle piece—his _rook_ —and Deep Blue immediately said, “That’s an illegal move.”

“What?” said Fry, momentarily shaken out of his chess-game-induced trance.

“You moved your rook two squares diagonally,” explained Deep Blue in a voice that seemed just a little too patronizing. “The rook can only go in straight lines either forward and backward or side to side.”

Fry cringed as he hastily moved his rook back to where it had started. His embarrassment was only exacerbated by Stephen’s smug grin.

“Er…maybe he had it confused with the bishop?” said Nichelle kindly.

“How could he confuse the _rook_ with the _bishop_?” said Stephen. “They’re two completely different pieces.”

“He’s a total chess novice,” Nichelle said. “It’s amazing he’s even gotten to this point. Cut him some slack!”

“That’s no excuse for him to be confusing the roles of the pieces,” Stephen grumbled. Or, at least, Fry could tell that he would totally be grumbling if his synthesizer allowed it.

“Come on, Stephen,” Nichelle pleaded. “Remember, this is the same guy who was talking about ‘horses’ and ‘little dot pieces’ not too long ago.”

“I’m with Nichelle!” called out Gary.

Fry shifted uncomfortably as he watched the two geniuses arguing over his head. Finally he cleared his throat. “Guys? Can we just, like, go on with the game?” He looked down. “I’m sorry about the rook thing. I’m not gonna make that mistake again.” And he wasn’t. The whole ordeal that had ensued had made it certain that he was not going to forget the role of the rook any time soon.

Stephen narrowed his eyes. “How do we make sure he doesn’t make an illegal move again?”

“If he does,” Nichelle said, “we just tell him it’s illegal. And he puts his piece back and he makes a different move, and—“ she cast a pointed glance at Stephen— “we all _move on_.”

Stephen looked infuriated, as if he found so many things wrong with that idea that he didn’t even know where to begin.

“Stephen, you have to remember, this is not some international grandmaster tournament,” continued Nichelle. “This is just something we started because we were bored of endless D&D.”

Gary in the audience looked offended, but let her continue.

“And you may think this is ‘below your intellectual caliber’ or whatever,” Nichelle went on, “but might I remind you that first of all, it’s not like you have so many options. There are literally only five people and an artificial intelligence in the entire universe, or lack thereof, right now. And secondly, Fry’s actually a pretty damn good chess player. There’s a reason he was invited to this tournament in the first place. Even if he doesn’t know all the rules yet, he has killer instinct and he can see a ton of moves ahead. And he could show it, if you only let him.”

She leaned back and folded her arms, clearly done with her speech. Gary and Al looked impressed, and even Deep Blue, for once, was silent.

Finally, Stephen sighed. “Fine. You win. Fry…let us continue our game.”

Fry felt an unexpected leap of joy in his heart. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” Stephen said impatiently. “Come on. We don’t have all day.”

“Actually, we have the rest of ti—“ Al began, but at Stephen’s look, he stopped.

Fry smiled as he looked down at the chessboard again, but couldn’t resist leaning up to whisper in Nichelle’s ear as she moved back to her place. “Thank you,” he said to her. “For…defending me. And for saying I was good at chess.”

“You’re welcome,” Nichelle said, smiling. “Now go prove me right so I don’t look like an idiot.” She squeezed his shoulder and then moved away from him, her hand hovering over the chessboard, ready to move Stephen’s pieces at his command.

With a refreshed mind and warmth in his heart that he’d never quite felt before in this reality, Fry glanced at the board and found that he didn’t have to look long to find his move. He decided to forgo the rook entirely, instead moving his bishop a bunch of spaces diagonally to where it could get right up close to some of Stephen’s pawns in the corner of the board.

“Bishop to H-6,” Stephen said, and as Nichelle moved Stephen’s bishop to where Fry’s bishop had just gone, taking Fry’s off the board, Stephen fixed Fry with a look that said _It’s on!_

But Fry wasn’t stymied, because he had planned for this. He moved his king right to where Stephen’s black bishop was, wiping it straight off the board. And he fixed Stephen with a look that said, _It sure_ _is_ _on_. (Or, y’know, whatever the proper response to “It’s on!” should be. Fry had never quite learned.)

The game went on, just as Nichelle had predicted. Both sides made great moves, and after a while Gary and Al took to cheering at particularly good plays and wincing at blunders, which were thankfully few and far between. Even Deep Blue was silent, seeming to have realized that this match was too important to disturb with sarcasm and witticisms.

Fry found that when he let go of his inhibitions, he actually was a good chess player. Stephen lured him into check a few times, but Fry always managed to skillfully maneuver his way out of it—and he even got Stephen into check once, which he would probably consider one of the proudest moments of his life, if not _the_ proudest. He seemed to actually be challenging Stephen, and their partnership made for a legitimately exciting match. And he only made an illegal move once—which Nichelle hastily corrected (“Fry, that’s not your queen, that’s your king, kings can’t move that way”), and he hastily remedied (“Oh.”), and after which, everyone moved on. Fry was getting caught up in the excitement of the game, and even considering being a championship chess player if they ever got out of this stupid void—

And then Stephen made a devastating move from out of nowhere and captured Fry’s king.

“Checkmate,” he said.

Fry hovered above the chessboard, frozen, his cheeks burning deep red. _Checkmate_. It was over. He had lost. He guessed he wasn’t such a genius chess player after all.

But then, something unexpected happened. He heard the sound of applause.

He looked up and saw Gary, Al, and Nichelle looking directly at him and clapping—slowly at first, but eventually increasing in speed and intensity until all of them were applauding madly, grinning hugely, and occasionally wolf-whistling. Even Deep Blue had begun to play the same recording of thunderous applause that had accompanied Stephen’s earlier announcement. The claps surrounded him, filling the void with their pure positivity and bliss, and Fry’s cheeks flushed in pleasure. _For him_. They were doing all of this for him. Or for both of them, or for the game itself, whatever. Whether directly or indirectly, they were clapping for him. Because of something he had accomplished.

He had never felt so happy in his entire life.

The only person who wasn’t clapping was Stephen, but Fry suspected this was less out of contempt and more because he physically could not. And just as he thought this, he registered Stephen showing approval in his own Hawking-esque way. He looked Fry straight in the eyes and said, “Good game.” And Fry could swear he saw the hint of a smile on his face.

He revised his earlier assessment. _Now_ he had never felt so happy.

And, just as soon as the applause started, it stopped, and the Vice Presidential Action Rangers glanced around awkwardly at each other, with _Now what?_ looks on their faces.

“All right, that was fun,” Gary said, yawning and stretching. “Now, anyone want to pick up where we left off in the D&D campaign? I’ve been brewing up a killer new challenge for us this whole time…”

“Hmm…could that _possibly_ be why you lost your chess match?” teased Nichelle, gently elbowing him in his side.

“Maybe Stephen can create a new character this time instead of being all stubborn,” Al said, looking pointedly at Stephen.

“Ex _cuse_ me,” Stephen said, “if it leads to the development of such sophisticated AI as what you see before you—“ he glanced at Deep Blue, its server floating behind them— “then I’ll happily let Slagathor the Wizard rot in hell!”

“Why, thank you, Mr. Hawking,” Deep Blue said. “And may I remind you all that _I_ am the one who came up with the idea of a chess tournament in the first place.”

“Why, thank you, Deep Blue,” Fry said, mimicking the computer’s monotone, “for helping me find my inner talents.”

“You are quite welcome, Mr. Fry,” said Deep Blue, seemingly either oblivious to Fry’s joking tone or not caring about it.

“I wonder who else here has hidden talents we don’t know about,” Nichelle mused. “Is Gary secretly a star track-and-field runner? Can Al play the cello?”

“I actually have a cello in the back of my wheelchair,” Stephen supplied.

“No you don’t,” scoffed Al as Gary reached into it to check. But then he did a double take as Gary indeed produced a full-size cello, complete with bow, rosin, and a Suzuki Level One book.

Everyone was silent, gaping at Stephen, glancing between the cello and his wheelchair and mentally trying to reconcile the size incongruity between them, until Fry grabbed the music book and flipped through it. “Well,” he said to everyone, “I hope you all like ‘Twinkle, Twinkle’ variations. ‘Cause that’s all we’re gonna hear for a while.”

The others laughed and then descended into more banter and ribbing, while Fry just sat there, basking in the happy glow. He may have lost the chess tournament, but he’d found something even bigger—a family. The smartest people in the world had accepted him as one of them. He was a Vice Presidential Action Ranger now. For the first time in his life, and in the last place he’d expect, he belonged.


End file.
